


The Hanging Gardens of Babylon

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Sex Work, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: During the reign of warrior queen Semiramis, Dean is a servant and gardener living in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. A night of passion with a visiting dignitary becomes a legendary tale of love and beauty.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 38
Kudos: 67





	1. The Gardens

The sun set low over the desert.

The date-palms grew long shadows in the red of the last of the day.

It was warm, even at night, here in the largest city at the center of the world.

Dean's brother Sam had told him once that Babylon was the largest city on all of the earth. Dean wasn't sure if he believed it, but it was certainly the largest he had ever visited.

He was also fortunate, in that he lived and worked in one of the wonders of the world - 

The lush waterways and mountainous aspect of the jungle-like Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

Dean enjoyed his work in the Hanging Gardens. He was a servant, yes, but was paid decent wages and enjoyed a better-than-usual sleeping arrangement. 

"Don't ask for more," he had counseled Sam on many an occasion. "Don't look above your station. That's the key to happiness. Do as you're told, and you'll be free."

Sam, however, did not agree. He had disappeared some years before. It had been a mystery to the world at large, but not to Dean.

Sam had gone to seek his fortune elsewhere. 

Dean couldn't understand, not really.

Not when they already lived in the center of the world, where all the treasures were kept anyway. 

But Dean was a good brother, so he tried to understand and accept Sam's choice to carve out a life for himself far beyond the luxuries of the city.

For Dean, there was nothing more beautiful than Babylon. Nowhere else he'd rather be.

He was one of many servants of the warrior queen, Semiramis, but she mostly left them to their own devices. Apart from the usual expectations of cleaning and keeping things in order, sometimes the servants would give _special attention_ to visiting diplomats and others. This was the aspect of his job that Dean loved most. He slept with some of the richest and most storied people of society, and what was even better, he got paid for it. 

Most of Dean's day was spent taking care of the enormous number of plants in his section of the Hanging Gardens. A feat of ingenuity and engineering, the Hanging Gardens were part of a series of lifts and pumps that brought the water up to the highest levels so that a veritable jungle of plants and flowers could grow. More than just a caretaker, Dean was also an engineer of sorts, and he was the first one to respond if there were problems with the system. However, it had been sturdily and reliably built, so the only issues he usually had to deal with involved things like leaf matter stuck in the machinery. 

Therefore, Dean's life was sweet and easy. He went about in servant's clothes, light chains of gold that hung against his skin, wrapping around his bare chest and shoulders, and loose cotton trousers. He was always barefoot, and his face was dusted with gold, his unique green eyes encircled with kohl to entice those he might end up taking to bed. Day in, day out, he led what he considered a charmed life, surrounded with growing things, accented with sexual escapades he would later recount to the other servants while they listened, rapt.

Babylon was a wonder of the world. The Hanging Gardens even more so; visitors came from all over just to catch a glimpse of them.

In his own private thoughts, Dean considered himself one reason that the Hanging Gardens were the splendid experience that people wrote about in all the works of the day. After all, if it wasn't for the tending to plants, and his ability to keep things running smoothly, Babylon would not be quite the paradise it was without him.

***

Dean smiled as he ran his hand over a spray of bougainvillea that overhung the wall.

"Well, hello," he greeted it. Sam thought he was ridiculous, but he stood by his beliefs that talking to the plants helped them grow.

And Semiramis had nothing to rebuke him with; the gardens were green and verdant, the flowers bright. The Hanging Gardens had never reached their full potential, but underneath Dean's expert hands, they were flowering as they never had before.

The gasps of new visitors to the garden never failed to bring a proud smile to his face.

A man in a cobalt-blue outfit had just climbed up to the mezzanine where Dean worked and sat down on a bench there.

"Good evening," Dean greeted him. Some dignitary or another, he assumed.

"Good evening," the man returned. 

As Dean continued to work, caressing the leaves and flowers lightly with his palms and speaking to them in a low voice as he checked their soil, he could feel the man's eyes on him.

He straightened up and turned around with a lascivious smile.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Dean asked, a lilt in his voice indicating he knew exactly what kind of help this man might need, and that he would readily accept the offer.

"Yes," smiled the man. "Semiramis told me that there were pleasure servants here in the Gardens. Is that true?"

"It is," Dean confirmed. 

"And you," said the man. "Are you one of them?"

Now that Dean was closer, he was stunned by the sheer beauty of the man seated on the bench.

His eyes were so blue that they matched the color of some of Dean's rare orchids.

"If you'd like me to be."

"Then get on your knees," the man commanded.

A thrill of arousal went through Dean. 

He did as he was told.

The man ran his thumb over Dean's lips. Dean opened his mouth, drawing the man's thumb in gently, and sucked.

The man moaned, removing his hand from Dean's mouth and shoving his clothing aside to show him his half-hard cock.

Dean didn't need to be told. He leaned down, hands behind his back, and took the man's cock into his mouth to the hilt.

The man spread his legs and moaned again in pleasure, never taking his eyes off Dean.

He must have noticed Dean's trousers tenting obscenely.

He stared down at Dean with heat in his eyes.

"You are hard from pleasuring me?" he bit out, his words strained.

Dean, never taking his wide eyes off of the man, moved back for a moment to say:

"Yes, sir. You are beautiful."

and then returned to the task at hand, swallowing his cock so that it bumped the back of Dean's throat. 

The man shuddered a breath, as if he had never seen anything so erotic in his life. His mouth fell open and he thrust up erratically into Dean's mouth until he could calm himself.

Dean just took it, looking up at him through fanned lashes.

" _Fuck,_ " the man swore. "Take yourself out. I want to see you come, kneeling at my feet."

Dean moaned around the cock in his mouth and his eyes fluttered closed as he pulled his cock out and began to strip it in haste. He had never felt so desperate in all his life. He _needed_ to come.

He whined, and the man brushed a tear from Dean's cheek.

"Please," whispered the man, and Dean came in stripes across the ground with a choked sob.

This seemed to ignite the man, who grabbed Dean's hair and gave a huge thrust, doubling over as he came.

Heat flooded Dean's tongue and throat. 

He swallowed, never looking away from the man, panting above him and staring as if he had just seen something holy.

Dean moved off of him and stood, his light golden chains reflecting in the torchlight. He knew that he was beautiful himself, and this moment of standing over one of his conquests while they gaped up at him in awe gave him a momentary sense of superiority.

"I must return to tending the plants now," he said. "That was a delight, sir. Thank you."

And he stood there, staring down at this beautiful man who had completely gone to pieces.

Because of him.

After a while, the staring had gone on a bit too long, and the man started.

"Oh!" he said. "Payment. Of course. My apologies."

He quickly dressed himself again, as if an afterthought. Then he rummaged in a small purse and dropped some coins into Dean's hand.

Dean looked down at the coins, and it wiped the cocky grin right off his face.

"But sir," he protested, "This is a small fortune!"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "It's hardly anything. Certainly not worth the gift you have given me this night."

Now Dean's sense of superiority was rapidly fading, as he stared at the coins in his hand.

"If I should wish for another encounter," said the man, "where shall I seek for you?"

"Here," said Dean faintly, still bowled over by the money in his hand. "I am the gardener. Among other things."

"What is your name?" asked the man gently.

"Dean," Dean replied.

"It was my pleasure, Dean," said the man. "I am Castiel."

He bowed slightly. Then he raised a hand in farewell.

"I have taken enough of your time this evening," he said. "I will let you get back to your duties. And my compliments, if you are the gardener; I have never seen a garden so beautiful in my life."

"I thank you, sir," said Dean, bowing.

By the time he stood up again, the man was gone.


	2. Ziqqurat

Dean dove into the clear water of the pool.

He swam across it in leisurely strokes, in the heat of the early morning sun. 

He loved to swim; one of the many blessings of the Hanging Gardens was a series of pools that cascaded one into the other from floor to floor in a staircase effect. Babylon was hot, dry desert, but not here. This was a veritable oasis.

He pulled himself out of the water and stood for a while, letting the sun dry his skin. Then he climbed into his loose trousers, dropping the delicate golden chains over his head and arranging them across his chest and shoulders. 

The sun would soon be high in the sky, and Dean preferred to spend it on the mezzanine, in the cool mist and shade of his own personal rainforest. 

He took the time to paint his face; one never knew when Semiramis might call him for service. 

Secretly, of course, he hoped to see the visiting dignitary again, and took care to accentuate his best features, dusting gold in the dip of his collar bone and along the high lines of his cheekbones.

Dean stepped out onto the mezzanine, the tiles warm under his bare feet.

"Hello, gorgeous," he greeted the plants in general. 

He went to check the misting nozzles, to wipe them down or clear them out if necessary. He was very proud of his garden. Dean had cultivated plants from all over the world, determined to create a particular paradise. For Semiramis, yes, but also for Dean - in the sense that he wanted an accomplishment he could view every single day. No other gardener had gone so far to acquire seedlings. None had managed to grow and cultivate them the way he had done. He ensured that the plants were watered, that their individual needs were catered to, and let the sun and the wind do the rest. 

The combination of different plant species meant that the mezzanine was divided into sections. Here, in the misty shadows, he cultivated the rainforest varieties, while out in the direct sunlight, date-palms and other desert plants grew. Much like the rest of the Gardens, his work was staggered, allowing the visitor a trip around the world of sorts, just by visiting his section. He was very proud of his accomplishments, and rightly so.

Currently, he was kneeling by a beautiful blue orchid that reminded him of someone's eyes.

"You're coming along well," he said to it, and started softly humming a song.

"Excuse me," said a voice behind him.

Dean looked up, and there stood the visiting dignitary from the previous evening - Castiel.

Today, he wore a suit of emerald green.

Dean hoped it was because of his own eye color. There was a reason he'd made a beeline for that orchid, after all.

"Good morning," said Dean, smiling and getting to his feet. "I trust you've found everything to your liking, here in the Hanging Gardens, sir?"

Castiel's lips curved a little. Dean supposed that was a smile on such a face.

The man had a fierce look. Like a warrior.

"Some things more than others, yes," agreed Castiel.

Dean took a step forward. Then he had a strange panic that standing in the mist so long might have melted some of the paint on his body.

"What can I do for you today, sir?" asked Dean.

"Please," said Castiel. "Call me Castiel."

"Castiel," said Dean warmly. 

They gazed at each other for just a beat too long.

"So," Castiel said, coughing to hide his embarrassment. "Would you care to tell me what you do here?"

"Oh, nothing much, sir - Castiel," Dean corrected himself. "I'm just the gardener. One of many."

"Semiramis tells me that your garden is the pride of Babylon," said Castiel.

Dean secretly thrilled at this information, but remained demure.

"I don't know about that," he said. "It isn't of much interest to someone of your status, I'm sure."

"Never mind that," said Castiel. "Will you show me your garden, Dean?"

Dean beamed.

"I'd be delighted."

***

Dean showed Castiel some of the more native varieties of plants first. These were the easiest to grow, but getting the necessary irrigation up to this level - several floors above the ground - was no easy feat.

"So the water has to be brought up here by a series of pumps," he was explaining. "I work on those too. Engineers are needed to keep this place running. But it's the garden I love the most. The plants are beautiful - I love growing things. Semiramis is a warrior, and there has been enough death and destruction. Peace and happiness - pleasure - these are the delights of the earth. Not war."

"Your words intrigue me," said Castiel. "And the mechanisms are ingenious. But I understand that you have more exotic species?"

"Yes," said Dean, leading him into the thicker foliage. "These are plants from other parts of the world - bugloss, orchids of all kinds, ferns. I wanted to replicate a rainforest here, like in the stories of faraway lands."

"This is indeed a treasure," said Castiel faintly, as they walked through the miniature forest Dean had created. "I have never seen anything so beautiful."

Dean did not have to look at him to know that he was not looking at the plants this time.

They emerged onto a little shadowed balcony, hidden from the rest of the Gardens and the town by climbing ivy. Dean sat down and invited Castiel to do the same.

Castiel sat beside him. From here, Dean could see his noble profile and the curve of his brow. The man looked mysterious and exotic to Dean, like a soldier or a hero from the old stories.

Then Castiel looked at him, and Dean felt like he couldn't breathe under the intense stare of those bright blue eyes.

Impetuously, Dean leaned forward and captured those soft, wide lips in a sweet kiss.

He tasted of honey. Dean made a small sound, a breath of a sigh, and kissed him again, the taste of honey making him a little delirious.

Castiel gently pushed him by the shoulders.

Dean, puzzled and hurt by the rejection, sat back.

Castiel must have read it in his features, because he smiled a little and shook his head slightly.

"Believe me, Dean, I wish to kiss you very much," he said. "Only, I do not have my coin purse with me this morning, and I would not steal kisses. I am a gentleman. So I wanted to enjoy your company instead. When I return to my - I will bring the purse, and then you can kiss me."

Dean didn't know how to tell him that he would kiss him regardless. But then he realized that Castiel probably viewed this as a transaction that had nothing to do with actual interest. For Dean, any interest in a client was not a wise business move, and Castiel rightly thought that Dean would expect payment. The other servants who also did this for a living wouldn't be very happy with him if he didn't insist on being paid. So he just nodded, and kept his distance.

"Tell me," said Castiel, changing the subject and looking out over the great city. "What is that?"

Dean looked in the direction he was pointing. He laughed a little.

"Oh, that?" he said. "Some new fancy of Semiramis's. Like the Hanging Gardens, I suppose. She is building a tower."

They looked at the winding tower under construction. It already dwarfed the Gardens and the city itself, casting its long shadow across the land.

"Why?" asked Castiel.

"You'll laugh," said Dean, "but she says it's because she wants to talk to God. If she can build the tower high enough."

He chanced a look at Castiel.

The man was not laughing. 

Instead, that beautiful mouth had tightened, and he wore an unreadable expression on his face.

"Is that so?" he asked.

"Yes," said Dean, a little uncertain of his footing now.

They looked up at the tower together.

"She says that the tower will reach so high, it will touch heaven."


	3. Blue Orchid

"Come on."

Dean took Castiel's hand and tugged on it. Castiel's eyes drifted away from where he was staring at Semiramis's new tower to interrogate him with a quizzical look.

"I want to show you something."

Mostly, Dean just wanted to distract Castiel from the tower, which seemed to unduly upset him. Perhaps his country - wherever it was - felt jealous of all the wonders that Semiramis had built. He couldn't blame them; Babylon was the jewel of the world.

Thanks, in no small part, to Dean's own efforts, but he kept this to himself.

Mostly.

"Here," said Dean, leading Castiel to the blue orchid. "This is what I was working with when you arrived."

Dean knelt down, and Castiel did likewise. 

"It's beautiful," said Castiel. "Not a native plant, I assume."

"No," Dean agreed. "It's from far away. This is the prize of my garden. Orchids don't bloom blue. Not naturally. Some gardeners like to use dye to make them this color, so people probably think that's the case with this one."

"But it's this color naturally?"

"Yes," said Dean. "This plant is probably the rarest in Semiramis's gardens. Not only here, but in the world. It comes from a rainforest very far away. These orchids normally have a lavender or purple color, but very occasionally, they bloom a brighter blue."

"This is incredible, Dean," said Castiel. "Not only that you managed to source such a thing, but the love and care it took to provide for it, nurture it to grow and thrive in a foreign environment. What made you put such effort into this particular plant?"

"What can I say? Blue's my favorite color," he said, and then rushed onward before Castiel could make the connection, "Besides. I haven't been able to do much caretaking since my brother Sam left."

"Were you two close?" Castiel asked. 

"We were," said Dean. "Or, I was close to him, anyway. I don't know if he was close to me. I basically raised him myself. Our mother died when we were children, and our father disappeared."

Castiel regarded him with a strange expression.

"And you never found him?" he asked.

Dean shook his head.

"No," he said. "And then Sam decided his fortune was somewhere beyond Babylon. I told him I couldn't imagine how that was possible, since Babylon is the center of the world, and all good things and treasure flow from here."

"Sometimes people have other goals," said Castiel faintly, as if he were talking about both Sam and himself. 

"I suppose that's true," Dean said.

Castiel then looked up. He got to his feet in a fluid motion that spoke of the grace of a dancer.

Dean murmured a farewell to the rare orchid and stood up, too.

"I'm sorry, I must take my leave of you now," said Castiel. "Thank you for showing me your garden, and the orchid."

"You've only seen half the tour," said Dean, smiling. "What's the rush?"

"I have - responsibilities elsewhere," said Castiel. "Worry not - I will return again. And this time, with my coin purse."

Dean winked at him; he couldn't help it.

"Then I look forward to seeing you again," he said.

Castiel gave him a quick nod, and then was walking toward the mezzanine staircase.

He gave Dean one last look over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

"Well," said Dean to his plants, "I think we've landed that one."

***

Later, he met some of the other servants for dinner.

"Dean!" called one of them, Jabal. "Sit with us and tell us the tales of your most recent exploits!"

Dean laughed and sat down, taking some bread and dipping it in honey.

"Not much to tell, my friends," he said. "Unless you'd like to learn about plant food."

"Oh, come _on_ ," said Jabal. "You've always got some kind of story. A visiting princess? Queen? King?"

Those gathered laughed, awaiting another one of Dean's spectacular stories.

Dean, however, wanted to keep his most recent experience to himself for some reason. He'd never felt that way before. Normally he loved to brag about his conquests. This time, he wanted to keep it a secret.

"Well, if Dean's been having a dry spell, then there's no hope for the rest of us," said Jabal. There was a chorus of agreement.

"I know that the ladies-in-waiting of some queen from the far desert are looking for company," said Aya, a young woman with long black hair. "I know they pay well, and they would appreciate your looks, Dean."

Dean shook his head.

"No thank you," he said. "I have things I need to be getting to."

This caused an uproar.

Jabal reached out and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Dean, are you feeling all right?" he asked, with a loud guffaw. "I've never known you to turn any opportunity down before."

"I don't know," Dean confessed. "My heart just isn't in it right now."

"Heart's got nothing to do with it," said Aya. "It's about coin. That's what you've always said."

Now everyone was staring at him. Maybe he should just take Aya up on her offer. He'd made them curious now.

"There's a man - "

A chorus of whistles erupted.

"Shh," Dean said. "Keep it down, or I won't tell you anything."

They quieted, and watched Dean eagerly. They loved his stories.

But this time, instead of telling them all the juicy details, Dean kept them to himself.

He wasn't sure why. He just wanted to hold the memory next to his heart, a private treasure. He hadn't had much, not since Sam had left him. This was the first thing that felt, for some reason, utterly _his_ in a way he could not have explained if you asked him.

"He's handsome, built like a warrior. Bright blue eyes, dark messy hair, wears tunics in jewel tones."

The faces looking up at him grew more and more confused.

"No such man is staying in the Hanging Gardens," said Jabal. "Believe me. We would have noticed."

"He's not a dignitary visiting Semiramis?" asked Dean.

"I serve the visitors directly," said Aya, who worked in the hospitality sector with a little army of housekeepers and others under her supervision. "If such a man were staying here, one of us would have remembered him, especially if his looks are as striking as you say."

"But he's been on the mezzanine twice."

"Dean, this is very important," said Jabal, laying a hand on his arm. "Was there ever anyone else there with you? The mezzanine is often busy throughout the day and night."

Dean thought back. He shook his head.

"No," he said. "We were always alone."

His friends exchanged worried glances with each other.

"Have none of you seen a man of this description?" asked Jabal.

They all looked at each other, wide-eyed, and shook their heads.

Dean stared at them.

"Then who is he?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue orchids are incredibly rare and almost never occur in nature. The orchid described here is Aganisia cyanea, the "blue orchid of the Amazon", which occasionally grows blue flowers. How Dean managed to get his hands on one during this time period is anybody's guess.


	4. Milk and Honey

The moon had risen high above the desert.

Dean stood on the mezzanine, checking the leaves of the plants. 

He was distracted. There was only one reason he was standing out here in the middle of the night, and it certainly wasn't concern for his plants. 

He feared that his untoward interest in this mysterious man was dangerous. He could be a spy, or an enemy soldier.

Castiel certainly had the build of a warrior, just as Dean had said.

"Dean."

The honeyed warmth of that gravel voice made him unable to suppress a shiver.

Steeling himself, he turned around to see Castiel, now in a white tunic edged with gold. A long sword hung by his side.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded. He had never been one to mince words.

Castiel gave him a puzzled look.

"Castiel," he said, and cupped Dean's face in his hands. 

He kissed him, and Dean was flying.

_Honey. Ambrosia. A warm day lazing by the waters of the Gardens. A newly-acquired plant growing luxuriantly in the desert heat._

_Milk and honey -_

Dean stared dizzy, his entire being suffused with a calm desire that washed over him in slow waves. He came to, finding himself impossibly hard, ready for Castiel to claim him.

"I brought my coin purse," whispered Castiel against Dean's lips.

_Safe. Safe, and protected. No harm may come to you here -_

It was as if these words were spoken in Dean's head, made real within his flesh, written across his skin. He leaned back in Castiel's arms, exposing his neck as Castiel fastened his lips to the skin there, leaving roses in their wake.

"Ah - stop, wait," sighed Dean, but it was too late. He moaned on the crest of some blissful delight he couldn't understand, as he arched his back and came against Castiel's body.

"Beautiful," Castiel whispered. "You give yourself over to me, and so readily. All that you are."

Then, he clutched Dean to himself and made a fierce sound through his teeth as he found the height of his own pleasure. Dean felt it, even through the clothing they both still wore. Neither had done much more than kiss.

Panting slightly, Castiel released him with reluctance. A shadow passed over those bright blue eyes. Inexplicably, he cast a guilty expression towards the stars hanging diamonds in the night sky.

Dean blinked. He had never felt anything like it in his life, had not known there could ever be such a feeling. Wordless, he reached out for Castiel, to feel those things again, that joy and peace and pleasure all as one -

and Castiel opened his coin purse, and dropped several more coins into his hand.

Realization ran Dean through as if he had been spit upon it.

_You're just a whore to him, whoever he is,_ Dean reprimanded himself. _What do you always tell the others, about getting emotionally involved? You are a fool, Dean._

"I thank you for another wonderful encounter," murmured Castiel.

Dean just stared at the coins in his hand. He did not trust himself to speak.

Castiel turned to go, furtive as if he expected to be caught.

"Wait," Dean finally said, just as he was about to disappear. "If you have a lady somewhere, we can't do this again, no matter how much you pay me. I don't go in for cheating."

That ghost of a smile touched Castiel's lips.

"There is no lady," he assured Dean. "There is no one else, Dean. I am alone."

The way he said it, with a note of sadness so deep that Dean didn't know how to respond, made him wonder just how long he had been.

"So - may I return, another time?" asked Castiel, with a hopefulness he clearly could not have hidden.

_Tell him no. Tell him to go away and never return._

"Of course," Dean said aloud.

Castiel then grinned - a real, full smile for the first time - and disappeared down the steps of the mezzanine.

Too late, Dean realized that he had never asked Castiel what he was doing here, and why.

He rushed to the staircase, but it was too late.

Castiel was gone.

***

Dean groaned as he woke far after the sun had risen high into the sky.

He had stayed up too late after his encounter with Castiel, which would completely ruin his usual schedule.

It didn't really matter, since Dean made his own schedule, but he had various responsibilities for himself and he did not like change.

He went for his usual swim. It was something he could not do without, partly because it kept him in good trim, partly because it gave him time to think.

As he cut smoothly through the clear blue water, he thought about the previous night.

There was something strange about it. Something more than sex.

Something inhuman.

Dean knew all the local fairytales, of course. Old legends, stories. But he'd never put much stock in them. 

"Stories," Dean used to tell Sam, who loved them, "are never going to put coin in your purse, you understand me? They're fun for an evening, telling to friends, or to seduce someone into your bed. The rest of it? Don't get too lost in them."

Sam had agreed, at the time, but Dean knew that he secretly left in the middle of the night to seek out traveling storytellers and other miscreants to learn more about the world and the things in it.

_Not like you haven't been doing some questionable things in the middle of the night yourself these days,_ Dean thought ruefully.

Dean hauled himself out of the pool, shaking droplets from his hair. He sat down at the edge with his legs dangling in the water and looked out over the city beyond. 

He hadn't been out there in some time, preferring the company of his garden and his fellow servants. He thought back and realized he hadn't even seen Semiramis in more than a year. A man came around with their monthly pay packets and that was all the contact she had with them. She trusted them implicitly, and so he never wanted to give her a reason to change her mind. They enjoyed a degree of independence most servants would never see in their lifetimes.

Dean had never wanted to do anything to endanger this level of luxury all her servants enjoyed.

But now, he found himself so irresistibly drawn to Castiel, he was risking it - not just for himself, but the other servants, too.

Perhaps it was time to visit the city again, clear his head.

As he stood up from the pool to get dressed again, and paint his face, Dean looked at the great tower on the other side of the city. He remembered Castiel's strange reaction to it.

"Why does her tower upset you so much?" Dean asked aloud.

There were too many things he didn't know. He'd been out of the loop for far too long, and lost contact with a good many friends he'd had in Babylon.

Tonight, once he had completed his duties, he would ask for leave, and go out into the city.

Then, he was going to find out.


	5. Stories

The city was a tumult of noise and activity. The scent of spices spun down the dark streets on the wind between the close-set buildings, the distant sound of stringed instruments floating through the crowds.

Dean grinned, his heart pumping. It was good to get out into the city again.

But no matter what low tavern he found, or priestess he asked, or beggar he distributed coins, no one recognized the foreigner that Dean described.

Frustrated in his search, and aware that tarrying too long in the streets would mean he neglected his gardens, Dean finally had to admit defeat and head back toward the palace.

As he walked, he kept going over and over the events in his mind. Castiel never showed up when there were other people milling about the mezzanine. Day or night, he had always managed to arrive during a lull. It was as if he was watching the mezzanine from above.

But Dean had asked the other gardeners on the next levels above his own, and the servants. None of them had seen a man of Castiel's description.

He was clearly someone of great personal wealth. Dean knew this because of his liberal distribution of coin; he would be set up for the next few months just based on what Castiel had given him. He also knew it because those jewel-tone, shining tunics did not come cheap - and getting a good bargain at the bazaar was unlikely when it came to silk stuffs, because the vendors knew the value of the fabric. Like saffron, it was an item that only the wealthiest could afford. So, not only did he come from means, Castiel would be one of the wealthiest men anyone in the Gardens had ever seen.

Therefore, they would have remembered him. The same was true of the people in the city. Men like Castiel did not pass by unnoticed and unremarked. No, that was for lowly servant-prostitutes such as himself.

And that was another thing.

Castiel seemed _guilty_ after everything they had done. Most people didn't give it a second thought. In fact, it was not uncommon to pursue such activities in public; though people cast their gaze away out of politeness, it wasn't such an odd thing to do. It had led Dean to assume that Castiel had some wife tucked away somewhere.

But the hollow ache Dean could hear when Castiel had said _I am alone_ -

there was something deep and longing in that phrase, leading him to wonder about Castiel's apparent extended solitude.

These were the thoughts that occupied Dean's mind as he stepped onto the mezzanine, intending to look after his garden.

And there stood Castiel, his tunic black with silver lacing, who turned and raised a hand to him in greeting.

Dean went to him, as if pulled by some strange magnet he could not understand, and Castiel met him with a searing kiss.

***

"Wait, wait," Dean panted, wild with need and wanting, swimming out from beneath it as best he could.

"Yes, my love, what is it?" Castiel murmured, his hand on Dean's hard cock.

Dean shuddered, his mouth open, and finally found the strength to back away.

Castiel's heated gaze looked ready to devour him. Dean let out a harsh breath and tried to pull himself together.

"I need to know," he said. "I need to know who you are. You spoke of Semiramis. But no one here has caught sight of you, or ever heard of you. Not here in the Gardens, not in the palace, not in the streets of the city."

Castiel looked down at the ground. He closed his eyes.

"I was a fool to believe I could have this," he murmured. "Yes, you deserve to know."

He raised his eyes to look at Dean.

They were so _blue_ , even in the low light - as if they were lit from behind.

"Do you know what an angel is, Dean?"

Dean stared at him. 

This was not what he had expected to hear.

"I - yes," Dean said. "My little brother was always into the folktales. Religious things. You know. Why?"

"I am an angel of the Lord, Dean," Castiel said simply.

Dean laughed.

"Sure," he said. "And I'm the queen consort."

Castiel sighed.

"The tower," he said sadly.

"What about it?"

"We are sent to make an example of the humans that are arrogant enough to think they can talk to God."

"Castiel," said Dean. "This is all very funny, but I need to know. I don't want to find out that I've been harboring an enemy here."

"In a way, you have," Castiel grit out. "Angels are not on your side right now, Dean."

"Impossible," Dean replied. "If you _were_ an angel, what are you doing with me?"

"Certain angels," Castiel explained, "have taken up with humans. I admit that I never saw the appeal, until the night I landed here and was captivated by your beauty. And your willingness. I had never felt such desire run through me. So I keep returning."

Dean smiled.

"Glad I showed you a good time," he said. "But - "

"It's more than that, Dean," Castiel said, and he looked so sad that Dean didn't know what to do. "Angels care for more than just the pleasures of the flesh, although those things are very enjoyable. I was hoping - "

Dean waved his hand dismissively. It was bad enough that Castiel was telling him this ridiculous lie, but he didn't want to hear that Castiel had _feelings._

He'd always told the other servants not to fall for that trick, and only to cultivate a mark's _feelings_ in order to ensure a repeat customer.

Besides, it was dangerously close to what he was feeling himself.

_Damn it._

"Enough of this," Dean said. "Who are you, really?"

Castiel stared at him.

"I told you," said Castiel. "I am an angel of the Lord."

Suddenly, the night sky was filled with lightning.

Two large, black wings unfolded from Castiel's back and spread wide, casting huge shadows against Dean's garden and the building. Blue light suffused Castiel's form, dripping from his feathers, his eyes, power crackling from the tips of his fingers.

Dean was cowed, and knelt in terror before him, head bowed so his forehead touched the ground.

"Forgive me," he breathed. "Forgive me for doubting."

He felt Castiel's hand on his shoulder.

Dean looked up, and there stood the handsome man he feared already held his heart and soul in his hands.

"I could forgive you anything," said Castiel. "I am sorry our time together has been cut short this night, but I could not keep such a secret from you any longer."

Castiel knelt down with Dean and kissed him softly.

"Will I see you again?" Dean blurted, because he couldn't help it.

"Yes, of course, Dean," said Castiel. "If you still want me."

Dean gripped Castiel's forearm where he was holding Dean's face in his hands.

"Always," Dean said in a soft growl, looking at the ground because he feared looking directly at Castiel with such an admission of emotion.

When he stood, Castiel had vanished.

Two coins sat on the bench beside him.

Dean picked them up just to feel the warmth that Castiel had left behind.

***

Dean tried to focus on tending to his plants, but his mind and body were still filled with thoughts of Castiel, were still aching and reaching for the dizzying heights that only the angel could bring him.

Dean found an alcove where he quickly took himself in hand and roughly brought himself off with a shout, slamming his fist into the wall from the intensity of his orgasm.

Panting, he leaned his forehead against the wall and let the soft night breezes cool his heated skin.

He was in more trouble than he had ever been, and he found himself wanting more.

***

Later, now that his head had cleared, Dean was checking on the plants in the garden. They seemed to be doing well and no worse for wear because of his own adventures in the city.

_Maybe it's time to consider other interests,_ he thought to himself. _The gardens could be looked after by another gardener, after all._

But Dean was loath to change, and he didn't trust anyone else to do his work as well as he could. He didn't want to see everything he had built here go to waste.

He'd been looking for something else to occupy his time for a while now. Maybe that was the reason Castiel had managed to get past all of his defenses.

Dean shook his head. _An angel!_ He hadn't even known they were real. Just more of Sam's ridiculous stories.

He wondered what Castiel had meant by a punishment, all because of the tower. 

There were footsteps behind him, coming up the mezzanine steps. 

Dean grinned, thinking Castiel couldn't really stay away, if he was as worked up as Dean had been.

But when he turned around, his mouth dropped open in shock.

"Sam?"


	6. Monsters with the Faces of Men

Dean laughed, an unbridled sound of joy and relief, and hugged his brother so hard that Sam muttered _ouch_ and backed away, grinning.

"That shirt is dangerous," Sam told him with a smile. "If you can call it a shirt."

"Come on, now," said Dean, a jesting lilt to his voice. "You know it's all a part of the job. It works, too. You've got gold dust on you, by the way."

Dean laughed again as he watched Sam scowl and try to rub the makeup off his shirt.

"I missed you," said Dean fondly. "Where have you been?"

Sam looked at him, giving up the shirt as a lost cause.

"Dean," he said. "I found our father."

***

"And you've been with him all this time?"

They were sitting in one of the many little cafés within the Hanging Gardens, drinking cocktails together beneath the warmth of the torchlight. Dean hung on every single word Sam had said.

"Not the whole time," said Sam. "It took a while, finding him. But when I did - "

Sam looked around furtively, and then leaned forward and whispered to Dean in a conspiratorial tone.

"He found out what killed our mother," whispered Sam. "And he was hunting it."

"It?" asked Dean, leaning back in surprise. Sam nodded.

"Yes," he said. "Monsters with the faces of men, Dean. There are so many out there, you wouldn't believe it."

Dean shook his head, grinning.

"Sam, I know you always loved fairy-stories when you were young," he said. "But the only monsters I've ever known were just men. Calling them monsters makes it harder to see when it happens again. People are terrible."

"Sometimes," agreed Sam. "But no, I mean _real_ monsters. They just look like people. I know you don't believe in the supernatural, but don't you want to find the thing that killed our mother?"

"Sure I do," said Dean. "But if it wasn't an accident, Sam, the only monster that killed her was just a man, like every other evil thing I have seen in this world."

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, and leaned back himself, disgusted.

"It's not that I don't _believe_ there are things out there," said Dean, thinking of Castiel, "but the idea that they have something to do with us, with our family - I don't know, Sam. It sounds farfetched."

"Are you telling me you've _never_ seen anything like that?" Sam countered. "Something you couldn't explain?"

Dean thought of Castiel again, and shook his head.

"Maybe I have," said Dean. "But that's no reason to go on some vigilante mission! I've had gainful employment here during the years you were off doing all this, and apparently our father has been doing it far longer than you! How do you make a living? How do you eat?"

"Best not to know the details," said Sam. "But we get by. Anyway, that's not important."

"Having enough money to eat isn't important?"

"Not as important as finding out the truth about the world, and trying to stop evil."

"Stop evil?" said Dean, taking a drink. "Will you listen to yourself, Sam? Father must be putting things into your head?"

"I knew you wouldn't believe me," said Sam. "I told Father you wouldn't - "

"You told him?" asked Dean. "Is he here?"

"No," said Sam. "He sent me to do this alone. He thought you'd listen to me. Guess not."

"And that's what he asked you to do?" scoffed Dean. "Come here and fill my head with fairy-stories?"

"No," said Sam. "We want you to join us."

Dean stared at him in disbelief.

"Join you," he repeated. "In some crazy search for, what was it again? _A monster with the face of a man._ Sam, I've got a job I love here, working for Semiramis. I'll eventually have saved up enough money to buy something of my own."

"Right," said Sam. "You won't leave the job for noble reasons. You won't leave the job for ignoble ones. You like the women you bed far too much for that."

"Sam," Dean's tone spoke a warning he did not voice. Sam lifted his hands in surrender.

Dean stood from the table.

"If you'll excuse me," he said. "I have some work to get back to. And before you ask, no, it's not _bedding_ anyone. I've cultivated the most spectacular garden here. It's famous. Bet you didn't know that, did you? No, you just think I'm here for the sex."

"Dean, I'm -"

"Which is a nice perk, I can tell you," said Dean, "but it's not my _reason,_ understand?"

" _Dean_ ," Sam said, standing at the same time and leaning into Dean's space, "Look. I apologize for what I said. But we're not here chasing the thing that killed our mother. We're here because word on the grapevine is that something bad is going to happen in Babylon, _and soon._ "

"Word on the monster grapevine, you mean?" asked Dean with derision. 

"After a fashion," said Sam. "Dean, it's not _safe_ here for you anymore."

"That so?" asked Dean. "So you and Father want me to go with you, travel the roads, sleep in barns or whatever it is you are doing on this mad quest? Look at this. Do you think I could afford this, living the way you do? Do you think I could even keep it?"

He touched the strings of delicate, slender gold chains crisscrossing his chest.

"Pure gold. A gift from Semiramis. Worth a kingdom, Sam!"

"Is it worth yours?"

Dean was dumbfounded.

"My what?" he asked. "My kingdom?"

"More or less," said Sam. "But I meant your life."

"Sam, this is ridiculous - "

"Do you know what angels are?"

The world stopped.

Or it seemed to.

Suddenly Dean's jaw felt like it worked on a rusty old hinge.

"You used to tell me stories," was all he could muster, while the word _Castiel_ screamed through his mind, begging to be spoken.

"We hunt them."

***

Later, Dean stood on the mezzanine, staring up at the stars.

He'd managed to shake off Sam enough that he left in frustration. Dean had offered space in his own sleeping quarters, but he knew he'd already annoyed his brother enough that he wouldn't accept the offer. He'd return to the city, possibly to their father, and complain that his reunion with Dean hadn't gone well.

Dean felt terrible, of course, but he needed time to think. Sam had blindsided him.

_You can't hunt **angels** , Sam! They're good! You told me so yourself._

_Angels are planning to do something to Babylon,_ Sam had said, and not elaborated. Dean could tell that he knew more than he was letting on, but now didn't trust his brother enough to tell him.

Dean watched as the moon rose over the desert, filling the world with a silver light.

He couldn't help thinking of what Castiel had told him about Babylon, and the hubris of man, and Semiramis's new tower.

_So what's it going to be, Dean?_ he asked himself. _Your family, or your mysterious, brand-new angel lover?_

"Dean."

He would know that deep voice anywhere. 

He felt it in his bones, heard it in his dreams.

Dean turned to see Castiel, now dressed in a tunic that seemed to change color as he walked toward him. He hadn't bothered to put away his wings, and they stretched out, black and mighty, above him, held proud.

"Castiel."

He melted into the angel's arms, and they did no more than that for a while.

Yet Dean could not bring himself to ask the questions that needed asking, nor to tell him that he had seen his long-lost brother again that evening.

Or that something was going to happen to his beloved city, his gardens, his friends.

In that moment, he simply wanted to be held by Castiel.

"Can we just -" Dean murmured. "Sit together? Tonight?"

"Of course, my love," said Castiel, and they sat down on the bench together.

They looked up at the night sky for a while, not speaking.

"Do you see that star?" asked Castiel, pointing to one that flickered, white and purple against the dark velvet of the night.

"Yes," said Dean, leaning his head against the angel's shoulder.

"I hung it there," said Castiel simply.

Dean did not trust himself to reply.

"They have names, stars," Castiel murmured into his hair, soft kisses to the top of his head. "Secret names, that only angels know. Secret passions. Stars lead very dramatic lives."

And for every star Dean pointed out, Castiel told him their secrets.

Together, for the rest of the night, they admired the architecture of the stars. 


	7. The Kisses of His Mouth

As the stars began to fade at the end of the night, Dean took Castiel's hands.

"Will you tell me the fate of Babylon?" he asked.

Castiel's blue eyes looked sad.

"I cannot say," he told Dean. "For I do not know the future. All I know is that I was sent here as an advance guard."

"To do what?"

"Search for a righteous man in the city. That is the usual procedure."

"And?"

Castiel simply stared at him.

Dean threw back his head and laughed.

"Me?" he said. " _Righteous?_ Castiel, I'm a prostitute. If you hadn't noticed."

Castiel's smile was soft and fond.

"I had," he said. "But that is meaningless next to the shine of your soul."

"You can see my soul?"

"All angels can. But it was the glow of your soul that drew me here to your garden out of curiosity. Then I found that I couldn't stay away."

Castiel kissed him then; Dean was drunk from the honey-wine of those soft lips, and felt himself instantly willing, ready to submit to the angel's every desire. He moaned against Castiel's lips; he felt mad, insatiable, an intensity of need he had never known.

"Cas," he breathed, in the onslaught. "Is this all - is this just because - "

He couldn't bring himself to ask the question. He couldn't find it in himself to be so vulnerable and feel so foolish as to ask whether Castiel felt the same as he did. It was madness, after all, wasn't it? After only a handful of nights together, it was as if Dean had finally found the answer to his existence. But to expect that sentiment to be returned, and from an angel, no less? He feared that he would be smited simply for his presumption.

"How can you ask such a thing," Castiel murmured. "I have been yours since the moment I saw your soul on the mezzanine, in the garden. I am an angel, Dean. We love in its entirety, completely. Forever."

"So you love me, then?"

"So much," Castiel affirmed, pulling Dean closer, as if he could not get close enough, "I paid, because these moments of glory are fleeting, and I did not know if you would ever return the sentiment. Angels love so intensely that it can be overwhelming for humans - and for us."

Dean gathered his courage.

"I return it," he said. "I do. I have never felt anything like this, not in all my life. Did you know I turned down customers because of you? I haven't lain with anyone else since our first night together."

Castiel sighed against him.

"You don't know how happy that makes me," he said. "I cannot fathom loving more than this, love itself is not enough of a word."

"Then," said Dean, gently pushing him away and halting the rain of kisses. "I need to tell you something."

***

Castiel was standing at the edge of the mezzanine, watching the first rays of dawn break over the desert.

"So the humans know," he said.

"Some of them," Dean agreed. "Sam wants me to join them in the rebellion. Is there nothing we can do?"

Castiel shook his head.

"Once the decision has been made, only repentance will be accepted."

"What about the _righteous man_ aspect?" Dean asked. 

Castiel gave him a sorrowful look.

"Unfortunately, my superiors will think that my feelings for you have clouded my judgement," he said.

"Then maybe I can talk to Semiramis," said Dean. "Get her to stop building the tower?"

The angel was thoughtful for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.

"That might work. But how can you be sure that she will grant you an audience?"

"Come on," said Dean, with a bright smile and a wink. "I'm her favorite gardener."

***

Dean was right; his reputation had granted him a private audience with Semiramis.

Fierce and stern, Semiramis was tall and broad-shouldered, her muscular arms and legs on display beneath the shift she wore. Her hair was long, wide titian ringlets crowned with a modest tiara, but this was only because she was not currently at war. During those times, she wore her hair tight against her head, or cut it all off if necessary. Nevertheless, she was fond of jewelry, and a complicated array of emeralds, diamonds, and rubies cascaded down her high, firm breasts. Her clothing was sheer, and spoke of invitation that only the truly brave would risk.

Dean himself would risk it, if he hadn't found Castiel. Semiramis was exactly the kind of beauty coiled with strength that appealed to him.

He was the kind of man who wanted to broken in the best ways, and love every minute of it.

Come to think of it, there was something of Castiel in Semiramis's proud, stubborn bearing.

"Dean," she greeted him warmly, smiling little, but welcoming all the same. "My best gardener, so I hear. Walk with me."

Dean fell in by her side, listening to the clink of her bangles on her bare arms.

"I understand you wish me to grant you a boon," she said as they walked. "Since you have brought fame and renown to Babylon, I am willing to hear your request."

"Bring down the tower," said Dean. "Stop construction and tear it down, and then repent."

Semiramis stopped. She regarded him with her dark eyes.

"I can only believe that you have a very good reason for requesting such a thing, gardener," she said. "Because that is not a boon. That is an outrage."

Dean sighed.

"I have reason to believe that Babylon will come under siege because of it," he said. "Your actions will show humility and save many lives."

"No."

"Won't you consider - "

"No. Dean, your work is exemplary, and I would grant you anything else. Would you like to be my consort?"

Dean's jaw dropped. Then he grinned.

"If you had asked at any other time, I would be honored," he said. "But I have an intended, now."

"Ah," she said. "Bad for business, isn't it?"

"You have no idea."

"Then something else, perhaps?" she mused. "This palace? The entirety of the Hanging Gardens for you to oversee?"

Now Dean really had nothing to say.

"The tower is that important to you?"

"It is."

"Why? If I may ask."

"You may," said Semiramis. She turned to look at the tower, where work continued apace. "I fell in love. Maybe you can understand."

Dean thought he might. He was already doing things for Castiel that he wouldn't dream of in any other circumstance.

"There was a man," she said. "Ara the Beautiful, they called him. I saw him, and I wanted him for my own. He refused me, and then in my madness I gathered an army together."

"And did you win him?"

"One of my soldiers, in his enthusiasm, accidentally killed Ara," said Semiramis. "And as God has not yet answered my prayers to bring him back to life, I wanted to speak to him personally."

Dean nodded, silent. 

He already knew the look on her face as she gazed up at the tower, her jaw tight.

There would be no arguing with her.

***

When night fell again, and the visitors left the garden, Dean heard the tell-tale sound of feathers and went to greet Castiel as he arrived.

"How did your encounter go?"

Dean shook his head sadly.

"She offered me the kingdom," he said. "She offered to make me her consort. She said she would give me anything but that. She is in love, and it makes the best of us mad."

"Were you tempted?"

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"To be her consort?" he asked. "It certainly would have set me up for life. And yes, if she had offered a month ago, I would have gone gladly."

"But now?"

"Now," said Dean, smiling and kissing him, "I find that I have a type, and _stern warrior_ is part of it. But _angel_ is the other."

Castiel smiled back, and returned his kisses.

"We have time," he said. 

_Time for what, exactly_ , he did not say.

_Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth,_ thought Dean dreamily, _for thy love is better than wine -_

_Wine?_

Dean started.

_Castiel is an enemy._

_The angels are going to do something to Babylon._

_These intoxicating feelings, this insane passion? After only a few nights? Never felt like that before, have you?_

"Stop," said Dean, backing away from Castiel.

"Dean? What's wrong?"

Dean could hear his father's voice in his head, reprimanding him.

"I can't _believe_ I've been so stupid!" he said. "Castiel, advance guard, for some impending doom he won't tell me about. Castiel, whose kisses feel like ambrosia - when I have never loved anyone in my life! Angels have magic, right?"

"Dean, I assure you -"

"Don't," said Dean, gritting his teeth together. He felt foolish; worse, he felt that he had invited the enemy inside. "You need to leave. Now."

"But - "

"You want to tell me what is going to happen to Babylon?" Dean demanded fiercely.

Castiel bowed his head.

"You know I can't."

"You _say_ you can't," said Dean. "You come down here, find some idiot human prostitute, think you can worm your way into the good graces of humanity, only to destroy the things we've built?"

"I don't understand where this is coming from," said Castiel, confused.

"There is no way I could feel like this for you!" Dean said. "Not without magic, or trickery."

"I feel the same as you do, Dean -"

"You can't. You're not human. You'll never understand how I feel - how _we_ feel. Now get out. And don't come back."

Castiel's hurt expression almost made Dean relent.

Almost.

"Very well," murmured the angel, and taking wing, vanished into the skies.

Dean panted with the exertion of the fight.

He wiped his hand across his eyes and was surprised to find it came back wet.

Stamping on the wound he had just made in his own heart, Dean went to clean up and dress himself.

He was going into the city, to find his brother and his father, and beg for their forgiveness.

Dean finally understood what side he was on, and he should've known it from the start.


	8. Surrender

This time, it didn't take long for Dean to find what he was looking for.

His father and brother were staying in a rude inn down one of the more unsavory lanes of the city. 

The room was filthy. Dean stood in the shadow of the doorway.

"This is how you live?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Some of us don't wear golden chains," Sam retorted, but stood up and hugged his brother anyway.

"Dean!"

Their father strode toward him and gathered him up in a hug.

"Hello, Father," said Dean.

"What brings you here?" John asked. "Sam told me you weren't interested."

"I changed my mind," said Dean in a flat voice. "Now. How do we hunt these things?"

***

They showed him their armory, and the incantations they used against angels.

They showed him the symbols that drove the angels to the four corners of the earth.

Then they showed him all the other weaponry used against these _monsters with the faces of men_ that Sam had described - one of which had killed their mother, all those years ago.

They were prepared for war. They could have fought any battle that it was possible to fight, against men or monsters or anything in between.

They were not prepared for the bloodless, peaceful destruction that came upon Babylon that very day.

***

It was Dean who discovered the change, as he emerged from their room to ask someone the time.

The man looked at him, puzzled, and said something in a language he didn't recognize.

"Must be foreign," said Dean. This didn't strike him as strange; Babylon was a large city.

But then he asked each individual who passed him by on the street, and they all responded in some odd gibberish he had never heard before - and none of them had said the same things as the others.

Dean rushed back to the room where his brother and father were staying.

"Sam? Father?" he called.

"Yes?" asked Sam.

"You understand what I'm saying, right?"

"Of course, Dean. Why wouldn't we?"

"Something's happened outside. You have to come see."

Wordlessly, Sam and John picked up their weapons, and handed one - a long silver blade - to Dean.

They emerged into the street, which was now a hubbub of wild confusion as people attempted to go about their daily business and were frustrated to find that they could not speak to each other and be understood.

Dean's family was ready for a fight. They were not ready for this.

In the distance, Dean could make out someone standing on top of the tower, shaking a fist at the sky. He did not need to get closer to know that it was Semiramis.

"What is it?" asked Sam. "What's happening?"

"The angels have won the war," said Dean simply. "And not a drop of blood was shed."

***

Dean had made an excuse to his father and brother of needing to go check on his garden. It was late in the afternoon, the sun blazing high above. Normally, this time of the day would not have seen him in the streets due to the heat, but there was a terror he could not describe beating in his breast.

He climbed the steps to the mezzanine. His garden bloomed just as beautiful, but of course the machines and the misting nozzles worked on an automatic mechanism.

It wasn't the garden he had hoped to find, but the man standing beside it.

Dean rushed him, blade at the ready, intending to bring him down.

Not only for what he was, but what he had done to Dean, how he had made him feel, fooling him, and for whatever the angels had done to bring this bloodless ruin upon Babylon.

Then the angel turned to Dean, his eyes wild and his hair sticking up like he had been pulling at it. From the looks of him, that was exactly what he had been doing.

Castiel caught sight of him, and such an array of emotions passed over his face, from anxious fear to a sick hope.

_Angels don't love like humans do. They love completely._

Dean stopped in his tracks and threw aside his blade where it clattered against the tiles. He went to his angel's arms, a sweet and soft surrender.

Castiel made a strange, wounded sound as Dean went to him, a mournful little wail, and buried his face in Dean's shoulder, weeping. 

Dean's heart beat with a stark realization -

_of course, of course, of course he loves you_ , and wondered why he had been so stupid as to not see it before, plain as day on the angel's face. The pain and terror there could not be feigned.

Dean also knew, in his heart of hearts, that these were the last days of Babylon. A city could not function when no individual could communicate with another.

"Castiel, I'm here," Dean murmured against his shoulder. "I'm yours. I'm so sorry, I didn't understand."

" **???** " said Castiel against his shoulder. Dean drew away from him in shock.

Castiel was staring at him with those wide, blue eyes.

"Cas?" Dean asked. 

The angel gave him a mournful look and shook his head.

" **Aixya blttih hrath** ," Castiel said.

Dean shook his head in turn.

They stared at each other.

Well.

Dean had never been good with words. He used a lot of them to say very little.

But when it was important -

there were other ways to communicate.

He took Castiel's hand and gave him a questioning look.

Castiel nodded, and Dean led him deep into the rainforest part of his garden.

This little place was his private paradise.

Beneath the mist in the air grew beautiful green leaves, ferns and monstera, orchids and bougainvillea, birds of paradise. There were hibiscus flowers and night-blooming jasmine, a riot of color against the green.

Tucked away in the cool green, where the sunlight filtered through the leaves to create a soft and verdant light, was a little bed of sorts where Dean liked to relax and nap during the day. It was hidden, so that visitors to the garden would not be able to see him, and it was cool enough that he felt comfortable even during the afternoon heat.

Dean turned to Castiel and began to remove his clothing. 

The angel stood waiting, watching Dean undress with hunger in his expression.

Finally, Dean crawled onto the little bed, naked. He then nodded to Castiel, who surged forward and seemed to catch himself at the last minute.

He divested himself of his clothes and stretched his great black wings out in the green bower. Dean was awestruck by Castiel's strong beauty. He had the corded muscle, the barrel chest and the broad shoulders of a warrior. His stern look and the high, arching black wings made him a formidable figure.

Then, he crept over Dean on the bed and draped himself across his body.

They lay there, just looking at each other.

" **Xbklai,** " sighed Castiel in relief. " **Vxixlk. Aiaikz nj klx.** "

"I love you, Castiel," said Dean, his palm against Castiel's cheek.

Castiel leaned his forehead against Dean's, and breathed some kind of magic.

Soon, he felt Castiel's cock breaching him for the first time, and Dean arched up, crying out as the angel kissed him, soft lips against the skin at his throat.

Dean's arms folded across Castiel's back, where they found the base of his wings. He spread his hands and buried his fingers in the feathers, causing the angel to shout and pant, a sudden thrust driving Dean to further heights.

There, in his secluded garden, Dean made love to an angel for the first time.

Despite the language barrier, there were some things that did not need translation.


	9. Legend

Afterwards, Dean and Castiel laid on the bed, staring at each other in the soft green light.

Dean slowly wrapped his hand around Castiel's, and then raised it to his lips for a kiss.

Castiel smiled. Dean's heart felt overwarm, and huge in his chest. 

But he knew this was the last delight his garden held for him.

He said _let's go_ with the cast of his eyes and a nod. Castiel nodded in return, and stood to dress.

Dean put his clothes on again, first ensuring that he donned his golden chains. 

They would need money, wherever they were going.

He walked, then, slowly through his gardens filled with the foliage and flowers of the entire known world.

"Be good," he said. "Grow well, if you can. Find another who will love you as I did."

Then he knelt by the blue orchid, and gently dug it up from the soil, setting it into a pot.

This, he could not leave behind.

The machinery of the Gardens was automatic, and would continue in perpetuity until someone else could come along. There were other gardeners here, and perhaps someone might find time to caretake the garden after Dean was gone.

But there were other gardens, too.

And that was where Dean was headed now.

He held out a hand to Castiel, who took it gladly.

Dean looked at the angel, and asked a question with his eyes, raising them toward the heavens.

Castiel's grief-stricken face told him what he needed to know. He shook his head slowly.

_I can never go back,_ it said. _I chose you, and so I am here for good now._

The sick hope he had seen on Castiel's face was now easily interpreted:

_I hope you choose me, too._

_I have been alone so long._

Dean had been alone too long himself.

When Castiel offered his acquiescence with a nod, Dean led him down the mezzanine stairs, potted orchid in hand.

He looked back at his garden one last time.

Dean left, never to see the Hanging Gardens of Babylon again.

***

"No, Dean! He's the enemy. He can't come with us! Are you out of your mind?" Sam was incandescent with rage.

"He comes, or I'm not coming," said Dean, stubborn. Castiel's head was bowed, prepared to endure anything for the sake of his love, trusting him even to the point of death. Dean wasn't going to let that happen.

"I don't think it's safe, son," said John. "Your brother's right."

"Castiel rebelled for me," said Dean. "So I want him to come along. None of us are staying in Babylon. I owe him that, at least."

Sam looked like he was about to protest, when Dean lifted his shirt. The gold chains glittered in the low light.

"Besides," said Dean, "I have the money to pay our way just about anywhere, find places where people still speak our language. This has only happened in Babylon, I'm sure of it. So you want in on this, he stays."

Sam and John exchanged looks. They were not stupid men.

"Fine," said Sam. "But if he even _looks_ at me funny, I'm sending him to the ends of the earth."

"No need for that, Sam," said John. "But I'll second that he'll have to earn our trust. If you're willing to deal with that, then he's welcome to come along."

"Deal," said Dean.

John held out a hand to Castiel, who looked up in surprise and relief. He shook it.

After a few moments, Sam stood up and shook his hand, too.

***

Over time, Sam and John came to trust Castiel as Dean did.

They began to understand each other's languages again, though the going was difficult.

Chain after chain of Dean's shirt disappeared in their search, funding the dual missions of finding what killed their mother, and finding a place they could call home.

The first, they found and killed after a year.

The second, they never found at all.

The little band of travelers became a symbol, and then a legend. Their names were evoked by travelers throughout the centuries for safe passage and fruitful journeys. They were known as the men with a guardian angel, people who eradicated evil wherever they went, wanderers whose sole purpose was to find the good in the world, and protect it.

Saving people. Hunting things. The family business.


	10. The Wanderer

There is another legend, based on the four wandering men.

Well, only two of them, really.

They say that the blue orchid is the rarest in the world. People dye them, of course, as they always have since time out of mind. But a truly blue orchid is something so unique and rare that it is nearly impossible to find.

But if you are in the right place, and look well, there are secret green places in the world where a single blue orchid will grow, bright blue against the green. 

It is said that this flower represents the impossible love between a human man and an angel, and that the human man planted its seedlings wherever they stopped during their travels all over the world. It is said to symbolize their passion, in another secret green place that was lost to them forever.

It is said that those who are fortunate enough to see the blue orchid are blessed by them -

the wanderer, and his angel.


	11. Author's Note

These historical pieces are always fun to write, playing with these characters and their stories in another setting. 

Semiramis was a real person, and the story of Ara the Beautiful is also true. She is disliked in Armenia because of this history. Adding her story to that of the Tower of Babel was my own invention. Warrior queens are fascinating, and people often don't know they existed, so I like to include them in what I write.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon are sometimes called Semiramis's Gardens. Nobody knows if they were real or mythological. The city of Babylon no longer exists except as an archaeological ruin, but that ruin shows the sheer breadth of the city.

Blue orchids are indeed so incredibly rare that they could be said to be nearly nonexistent. Many of the other plants in Dean's garden would not be able to thrive in the desert heat, but there were several innovations of irrigation in the Hanging Gardens that would have made such things possible.

I hope you have enjoyed this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I look forward to seeing your comments every day when I post a new chapter, and they spur me on to keep writing more. So thank you all for commenting; I find it one of the most motivating experiences I have had as a writer.

Thank you for reading!


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